


Surprise

by bamftastik



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:24:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamftastik/pseuds/bamftastik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TRESPASSER SPOILERS</p><p>Dorian meets the Inquisitor for a romantic tryst in the Winter Palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surprise

He had only complained in jest, of course. The Winter Palace might lack the boldly disdainful opulence of Minrathous, but his accommodations were more than suitable. Cramped, yes, but that was to be expected. A perfectly calibrated snub for the reviled son of the continent's most reviled nation.

The Inquisitor had laughed when Dorian referred to this little adventure as their second honeymoon. And why not? They had been standing in the most magnificent library, after all, the knowledge of the world's lost histories – lost magic – at their fingertips. His Amatus had been just as entranced as he, his fingers tracing the spines of nameless volumes, his lips twisting in a wince of regret at the thought of what they might reveal. Dorian knew something of how it felt to discover the lies behind your people's history. So he had chattered on about silk sheets and all the trappings of a proper honeymoon, until it earned him a distracted smile.

He had not expected the Inquisitor to actually come through.

But he had been there after the evening meal, pressing a key into Dorian's palm with the most wicked smile. A hand-drawn map directed him to a room high in the palace's damaged wing, still undergoing repairs after all these years. The appointed time had been scrawled at the bottom. It was a titillating bit of subterfuge, a hunt worthy of the Winter Palace. Pointless, though, really. The Inquisitor's affair with the Tevinter Ambassador was dominating the gossip of nobles and servants alike. 

Not that his Amatus seemed to mind. There was a tiredness to him, yes, and he complained often of the mark – a concern that they would need to speak of, and soon, though he stubbornly changed the subject whenever Dorian made the attempt. The pain, the Council and now the Qunari... the Inquisitor was growing increasingly impatient, displaying a boldness that Dorian had not seen in years. He might even be able to hold his own on the floor of the Magisterium one day. Dorian had observed the talks with no small amount of pride.

And so they were once again the dashing heroes, vanquishing their foes... and reaping their rewards. He had reached the room. Smiling to himself, he pushed the door aside.

Dorian's breath caught. He had known his Amatus to be a secret romantic, but it seemed two years had truly made the heart grow fonder. Every surface was lit with candles, their flickering shadows warring with the glow of the fireplace. Strewn petals formed an inviting path from the door to a large, canopied bed. He breathed in the scent, the warmth, his eyes scanning the darkened corners of the room.

"Amatus? If you are lying in wait to ambush me, do know that I am prepared to defend myself."

He stepped close to the bed, running a hand over the sheets and chuckling to feel the silk beneath his fingertips.

"Amatus?"

He saw it then, a familiar boot sticking out from behind the bed.

"Amatus!"

He lay collapsed on the carpet, curled onto his side, cradling his arm. At Dorian's touch, he groaned.

Dorian leaned close, his lips brushing the Inquisitor’s forehead and he carefully examined the hand. The flares were more frequent now, the magic hissing and crackling. He had less and less time to heal between episodes. The cracks in his skin lingered now, blackened at the edges. Whatever magic Solas had used to keep the mark at bay was waning. They were running out of time.

His Amatus stirred in his arms, managing a weak smile as he blinked up at him. "Surprise."

"I could have rather done without this particular surprise, if it's all the same to you."

"Sorry."

"Hush, Amatus." He struggled to sit, but Dorian held him still. "Rest. I can fetch..."

"Who?" His laugh was bitter. "No one can help me. Not now."

"Ever the fatalist." He had meant to tease, but the words caught in his throat.

"You know me." This time he did manage to push Dorian gently aside and struggle to his knees. Standing was more difficult, but Dorian was there to catch him when his legs buckled. His eyes scanned the room, his sigh thick with regret. "I had hoped..."

"What you hoped is fairly obvious." Dorian smiled, sweeping a hand toward the candles. "And appreciated. I don't believe anyone's ever burned down a palace to win my affection."

He laughed at that, wincing again as his hand flared. It was a moment before he could speak. "It's... getting worse..."

"I know." Dorian pulled him closer. When the Inquisitor finally sagged against him, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him back toward the bed. "It would be a shame to waste such lovely sheets. Why don't we lay down?"

His Amatus tried another smile. "For a bit." Then his face fell. "Dorian... I really am sorry. You deserve—"

"Nonsense." He helped the Inquisitor down amongst the pillows and slipped into the bed behind him. Still he lay curled round his hand, the shadows dancing in its eerie green light. Dorian pressed closed behind, locking him in his arms. "What we deserve is a rest. Rest, Amatus." This time he kept his voice strong, though he was grateful for the darkness. Burying his face in his hair, he held him close. It was all that he could do.

 

 

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